ORNAMENTS✅

Chapter Sixteen

United Kingdom, Spire Gatwick Park Hospital, 2021.

Nabeel stood beside his mother’s bed, his heart heavy with worry. He looked to the doctor, his voice trembling as he asked, "Doctor, will she recover?"

The doctor, avoiding Nabeel’s gaze, answered quietly, "For now, we’ll continue with the chemotherapy, but I suggest you say your goodbyes. Okay?"

Nabeel sighed, his fears confirmed. He had known this moment might come, but it didn’t make it any easier. His mother had known about her cancer all along, but she had kept it from everyone. Even when it began as something as simple as gastritis, she had refused to seek help. Nabeel couldn’t help but wonder if he was to blame. He had distanced himself from her, refusing to pick up her calls. Why would she confide in him now?

"Okay, Doctor," he murmured, swallowing his emotions. "So you’re saying she doesn’t have much time left?"

The doctor hesitated, his eyes sad, but then he spoke, resigned. "She has six to twelve months. Anything beyond that, consider it a miracle—I hope that happens."

Nabeel nodded numbly, his hand shaking as he shook the doctor’s hand before walking out of the office. His mind raced with the weight of the doctor’s words. Six to twelve months. He had always thought they had more time. He had hoped that his mother would apologize and that they could somehow find a way to be a family again, perhaps even return to Nigeria. But now that dream seemed so distant.

It was Eid, but because of his mother’s illness, Abba couldn’t spend the holiday with Nini, Yazid, and Sauban. He wasn’t in the mood to celebrate, and who could blame him? With his mother on what seemed like her deathbed, the thought of Eid lost its meaning.

Alh. Shamaki approached Nabeel, tapping him on the shoulder. His expression conveyed a silent message of support, though he, too, was struggling. "Everything will be fine," he said, though his words lacked conviction.

Nabeel looked at his father, his heart filled with doubt. "Abba, will it really be fine?" he asked. It didn’t feel like it. Nothing about this situation seemed fine, and false hope wouldn’t change that.

He hesitated, then continued, "Abba, when we came here, Alh. Yabo asked me to relay a message. He said he would always arrive before you. I know there’s been tension between you two for years, and I think it’s connected to Mum. I don’t know if it’s my place to ask, but I’ve been curious. With Mum like this... I just want to know."

Alh. Shamaki studied his son, wondering if Nabeel had kept quiet all these years because he was finally ready to hear the truth. But was he?

"Nabeel," Alh. Shamaki said slowly, his voice weighed down by the years of silence. "It’s not my place to tell you. It has to come from your mother. The issues started with her, and she’s the one who can explain. Wait patiently. When she’s ready, she’ll tell you. Only then will you be ready to hear the truth."

Nabeel forced a sad smile. He had hoped for a different answer, but he would wait. He had to know, no matter what it took.

His mother had just been released from therapy, and Alh. Shamaki and Nabeel walked her back to her room. After a brief exchange, Alh. Shamaki prepared to leave.

"Halima," he said gently, "I wish you a quick recovery. But as you know, I left my family and work to come here. Both need my attention. My flight is in three hours. I have to leave."

Nabeel’s mother smiled faintly, understanding. "Don’t worry," she said softly. "Send my regards. You have a big heart for coming. I won’t forget it, even when I’m gone."

Alh. Shamaki smiled awkwardly, unsure whether he had come because he couldn’t refuse Nini or because of something else. But whatever the reason, he knew he had to go. She had Nabeel now.

"Abba, I’ll take you to the airport," Nabeel said, trying to keep his composure.

"No," Alh. Shamaki replied, shaking his head. "Stay with your mother. She needs you more right now. I’m fine. Take care of her." He hugged Nabeel before walking out.

Nabeel sat by his mother’s bedside, holding her hand. "How are you feeling, Mum?" he asked, his voice soft as he noticed she seemed a little better.

She smiled, moving one hand from his to gently touch his curly hair. "I’m good," she said, her voice light, though her eyes betrayed the weight of everything she was feeling.

Nabeel moved closer, unable to suppress his emotions any longer. He rested his head on her lap, tears spilling over as the floodgates opened. "Why do you want to die and leave me?" he whispered, his voice choked with grief. Despite their strained relationship, he didn’t want her to go.

His mother looked down at him, her own tears welling up. "Cry as much as you need to, Nabeel," she said, her voice filled with pain. "But no matter how much you cry, it won’t amount to the tears I’ve cried."

She didn’t want to remember it all, the past that had shaped everything. But it wasn’t just her fault. There was someone else who had escaped punishment, gaining only glory. But she didn’t have the strength to dwell on that now. She was dying, and that was the only truth left.

"Mum, let it out," Nabeel urged, his voice trembling. "I know you’ve been holding so much inside. Please, tell me now. I’m older. I’ll try to understand."

His mother sighed, her breath shaky, a quiet release of tension. "Nabeel, not now—"

He interrupted gently, "I know it’s not easy to open up about the past, but Mum, someone’s life is at stake here, and it’s not about your pride anymore."

He looked up at her, his eyes pleading as he told her about Umaimah. "Mum, do you want Alh. Yabo and Abba to be at each other’s throats again?"

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she took a moment to scan her surroundings—the sterile hospital room, the oxygen pipe near her nose, the cannula in her hand. She had once been the epitome of elegance, but now she felt frail and vulnerable. "Nabeel, do you think you’ve done well?" she finally said, her voice hollow. "The day she married into that family, the war was inevitable. Even if you bring her back, it will still happen."

Nabeel blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

His mother’s voice was weak as she changed the subject. "Nabeel, bring me my cup of water," she said, looking at him with tired eyes. "And put the pillow behind me so I’ll be more comfortable."

As Nabeel moved to help her, he wondered just how much she had kept hidden, and if he would ever fully understand. The answers lay within her, but for now, all he could do was be there, by her side.